I’ve never done this for a woman before. It’s surprisingly intimate. How close we are. How much I have to touch her.
The strands are silky soft and flutter around her shoulders as I weave my fingers in and out of her hair. Rhythmically, I repeat the motion. After a few minutes, she drops her head to the side.
I study her graceful neck and the long line of her shoulder, and I have the sudden urge to kiss her there. Is she ticklish. Would she giggle? Or would she moan and beg for more?
When the blood in my body starts heading south, I realize I have to stop this shit before it gets out of hand.
Ten minutes later, after I’ve recounted Red Sox stats instead of studying the soft curves of the woman in front of me, I click off the dryer, and she turns around. Her eyes are sleepy. “Thank you,” she whispers as she gets up.
“Nuh-uh. You’re not going anywhere.” Reaching into the closet, I grab a few more blankets and another pillow. “Lie down.” I motion toward the couch.
She looks at me, bewildered. “Where are you gonna sleep?”
“The floor.”
Her mouth drops open. “Brady, no. This is silly. I sleep in that room every night. I’ll be fine.”
“I insist.”
She sighs. “Let me sleep on the floor. You take the couch.”
“Kat, I realize we haven’t known each other that long, but what part of me do you think is asshole enough to let a woman sleep on the floor?”
She stares up at me while she nibbles her bottom lip. “How about we share it? It’s a pretty big couch. I could sleep on one end or in the lounger. Whichever you wanted.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine.”
She sits slowly and pulls up the blanket.
Settling back into the lounger does nothing to ease the nervous energy that pounded through me when I heard her scream. Jesus Christ. That scared the hell out of me. But when I think about how she leapt into my arms, I can’t deny how good she felt.
She keeps shifting, so I know she’s still awake. And I can’t fucking sleep.
“Want to see what’s on TV?” I ask her in the darkness.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
The Steve Carell marathon is still going strong, so we settle in with Anchorman. It’s barely audible, but neither of us seems to care.
I glance at her, and she’s curled up, looking like she’s afraid whatever happened in her dream is going to bust through the front door.
This is probably the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, but I can’t stop myself. I have a crazy need to make sure she’s okay. And right now, I know she’s not.
“Hey.”
She turns to look at me, her eyes tinged with fear.
I hold out my arm. “Come here.”
There’s no hesitation. She just scoots closer and curls into me like she belongs pasted along my side. Her body’s still trembling, from the cold or her dream, I’m not sure.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head no, and I drop it. For now.
I reach over and spread the blanket over both of us. I’m sure I’ll regret this in the morning, but for now, at least I feel like I’m doing what I can to make her feel better.
Ignoring how good she feels against me, I close my eyes and try to sleep. Kat must be relaxing finally because she sighs and melts deeper against me. Her arm wraps around my waist, and her head slides to my chest. I glance down, and I realize how small she is. My arm tightens around her.
“Everything will be okay,” I whisper. “I got you.”
22
Katherine
I’m warm. So deliciously warm.
Usually, I wake up freezing, but right now, I’m in a cocoon of warmth that reminds me of a long summer afternoon. I could sleep like this into the new year.
Except for the pounding in my head. Whoa.
Then I remember the tequila.
Geesh. How many shots did I have? My mouth feels like I drank a pint of Pine Sol.
I squint through pasty eyes, hating the harsh light that filters through the blinds. Funny, I never realized how bright my bedroom gets in the morning.
But then something squeezes me, and I look down to see an arm draped over my hip.
One very tattooed and muscular arm.
The reason for the warmth squeezes me again, and I try not to squeak.
Then it comes rushing back to me. My nightmare. Curling up to Brady afterward. How he held me until I calmed down.
He’s such a sweetheart.
Wait.
We’re spooning.
My heart thrashes against my ribs. One of his arms is nestled under my head while the other anchors me firmly to his chest. A muscular thigh rests between my legs, and… and… his long, thick erection presses against my bottom.
I hold my breath. Do not arch your back. Do not arch your back.
I really want to arch my back.
My ex was not a snuggler. I never thought much about it since he was the first guy I had regular sleepovers with, so I guess I didn’t realize what I was missing because this feels heavenly.
Brady sighs and then, dear Lord, presses his length against my ass.